Wish Upon a Star
by Adara-chan67
Summary: “Gods and spirits laugh their loudest when a mortal makes plans, and doubly so when they make plans for another.” That's Mercedes Lackey talkin'. Oneshot, songfic, futurefic. SamSarah pairing. Read warnings inside.


_DISCLAIMER: I don't own the beautiful Winchesters, Sarah, or the song "My Wish." The first two belong to Eric Kripke, and the Rascal Flatts get to claim the song. So, basically, I just play with them._

_Characters: Dean and Sam Winchester, Sarah Winchester, and Johnny, Marie, and Jesse Winchester_

_Setting: Futurefic, post…well, everything, I guess_

_Warnings: Character death_

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My Wish

**I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow,**

**And each road leads you where you want to go.**

**And if you're faced with a choice and you have to choose,**

**I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.**

**And if one door opens to another door closed,**

**I hope you keep on walkin' 'til you find the window.**

**If it's cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile.**

**But more than anything, more than anything…**

It's funny, really, the number of ways Life finds to mess with you. It seems to take great pleasure in taking everything in your head and your heart, and turning it upside-down and inside-out until you aren't sure you want what you _want_, or if what's right is really _right_.

And expectations—oh, Life seems to _love_ expectations, and plans. Or rather, It seems to love _destroying_ them, changing them out of all recognition.

There was no greater example for this tendency than the life of a young man named Dean Winchester.

Dean's expectations for his life had been incredibly simple, back when he was still a youngster, all afire with hopes and dreams and plans to rid the world of evil. He'd been ready to take his father, and his brother, and ride the whirlwind. Back then, the world had seemed small enough to put in his pocket, and easy enough to tame.

But then he'd grown up, and the world seemed to grow with him—only faster. And by the time he hit twenty-two, and Sammy left to make his own way in the wide world, Dean suddenly felt like he could sit on the head of a pin—that was how very large everything suddenly seemed. He'd been fighting to cleanse the world for nearly two decades, and yet he'd barely done anything—and now one of the Light's soldiers had dropped out of the fight.

It got worse when John disappeared—dreadfully, indescribably worse. Because suddenly, Dean was the only soldier left, and he didn't know what to do about it. So, he went to re-enlist his favorite of the soldiers.

The whole thing didn't go exactly the way Dean had hoped it would, but the end result was the same. Little Sammy returned to the road with him. Only now he wasn't Sammy anymore, he was Sam—a boy no longer, but a man who had seen far too much, and was trying desperately to keep up.

And for a while things were pretty good. Dean and Sam went back to being brothers—a little older, a little wiser, and a lot more awkward around each other, but brothers nonetheless. Sam was moodier than he used to be, but that was understandable and Dean could deal with it. John wasn't with them, but he was all right, and so that was okay, too.

Then John died, and nothing was okay anymore.

Dean's plans had undergone a drastic alteration after that, as he struggled to modify them to fit two boys barely come to manhood, rather than two boys and their father. And it had been hard, there was no denying that. It had been so hard that for a while there Dean had been sure he wasn't going to make it.

And yet…somehow…he did. He survived--rather the worse for wear, but he still lived through the pain, and maybe even became stronger because of it. He certainly became more determined—determined not to lose his brother, the last remaining part of his whole screwed-up life.

He even retained some of his expectations. He continued to expect for him and Sam to hunt—to save people, from whatever came along. He expected them to continue to hunt for the cursed demon that had killed their parents. But on some level, he was sure they'd never actually_ find_ the thing.

And he _never_ expected what eventually came to pass.

**My wish for you is that this life becomes all that you want it to.**

**Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small.**

**You never need to carry more than you can hold.**

**And while you're out there getting where you're getting to,**

**I hope you know somebody loves you and wants the same things, too.**

**Yeah, this is my wish.**

**Christmas Eve, 2020**

Dean stared at Sam's house a long time after he stopped on the other side of the street in front of it, just remembering. It had become sort of a ritual with him over the years—every Christmas when he came to visit, he'd sift through his memories before going in to see his little brother.

As mentioned, Dean had never expected them to actually accomplish their lifelong goal of actually killing The Demon. Maybe a miracle would occur and they'd _find_ it, but it was a simple fact that they weren't strong enough to kill it.

He had never counted on Sam's tightly-leashed fury at the bastard who had stripped him of most of his life.

Actually, he'd never _seen_ that anger. Sam had hidden it so well, under the mantle of sadness and grief and worry and fear, that even Dean, who knew him better than anyone, hadn't managed to pick up on it.

But, oh, it was displayed clearly, on the day of his last fight. It was written in every line of his profile, every soft and venomous word, every slight movement. It had been so penetrating, so all-enveloping, that even Dean had been truly, deeply frightened of him.

In the end, Dean hadn't gotten the chance to work out _his_ anger at the thing, because it was dead and gone at Sam's hand while _he_ was still trying to figure out what Sam had _become_.

There really isn't much to tell about the time that followed the kill. That moment when The Demon had floated to the ground in ashes was also the end of Sam the Hunter, and the beginning of…someone else. Someone who simply refused to keep doing what he'd always done—someone determined to finally find what he'd been searching for.

Almost too fast for Dean's comprehension, Sam returned to Sarah, and before anyone knew it, they were married.

_Married_. Sam was _married_, and for a while he felt lost to Dean forever.

That had been the beginning of a grueling five-year separation. Dean continued to hunt, and he told himself, firmly and often, that he didn't _need_ Sam—that maybe they were even better off without each other, even though Sam couldn't see it, and called so often that Dean had been tempted to change the number. As it was, he never answered the phone, and just listened to the messages.

That was how Dean came to be absent from the birth of his first nephew, three years after the marriage. He'd wanted to be there, so badly, and yet, _something_ held him back. But the night Sam called from the hospital, crying and telling him in a choked voice that he was an uncle, to a beautiful baby boy named Jonathan James Winchester—that was the end of it. Something broke inside Dean, and he was packed and back on the road, driving on three and a half hours of sleep, before he realized what he was doing.

It had taken him three days to drive there—they were on opposite ends of the country after all—and on the way he'd gotten a call from Sam that they were all back at home now. He hadn't answered it, and he'd told himself firmly that there was no _real_ reason he'd sped up after listening to the message.

Dean could still remember the night he saw his brother again. Every detail was as sharp and clear as it had been that night. He clearly remembered the stunned look on Sam's face when he'd pulled open the door and found him standing there, shifting nervously from foot to foot, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He remembered the moment Sam finally moved, and reached out to pull him into the tightest hug he'd ever been caught in.

And he remembered seeing his nephew, for the first time, and that had been…indescribable, and he could only hope that someday he'd feel that way again.

Smiling at the memory, Dean finally pulled himself back into the present, pushed open the door, and got out of the car.

**I hope you never look back but you never forget**

**All the ones who love you in the place you left.**

**I hope you always forgive and you never regret**

**And you help somebody every chance you get.**

**Oh, you find God's grace in every mistake, **

**And you always give more than you take.**

**But more than anything, yeah, more than anything…**

Sam answered the door. Sam _always_ answered the door when he came—like if someone else did it, it wouldn't be Dean who was there, but a different person entirely.

And like always, his face lit up like the lights strung up all over the house when he saw his brother, and pulled him in for one of those damn hugs. Dean allowed it, though—even hugged Sam back a little, considering that they only saw each other a few times a year now—basically, whenever Dean happened to be in the area, and at Christmas. They never manufactured reasons to see each other, though they called back and forth constantly, and so far, the system had worked pretty well, keeping them from getting overly involved with each others' lives, but allowing them to stay in touch at the same time.

Dean allowed the hug to go on for precisely five seconds, like always, and then he pushed Sam away and took hold of his shoulders instead, squeezing them and looking Sam over, more out of reflex than of any actual worry that something was wrong, and he noted with a touch of warmth that Sam did the same.

They were still looking each other over in silence when a shrill voice screeched through the room.

"Unca Dean, Unca Dean!"

Dean turned from Sam just in time to grab the little figure hurtling toward him, catching the child before he managed to figure out which one had jumped him first this time.

It turned out to be little Jesse, now two and a half years old, and looking more like his father every day. He was the first to look like Sam, too—Johnny and Marie took more after their mom.

Dean's hunter's awareness alerted him to the stampede in time for him to shift Jesse to one of his hips in time to catch Marie, and still be able to hook one arm around Johnny, who didn't _jump_ at him, but still managed to hit pretty hard. Moving very slowly due to the crush of his two nephews, his niece, and his brother, Dean made his way over to the larger couch, and dropped down on it. Jesse immediately perched on one of his knees, Marie sat down on the other, Johnny went to sit down at his feet with his back against the couch, and Sam sat down next to him.

"So where's Sarah?"

Sam grinned wide. "In the kitchen. We have a surprise for you."

"Yeah," Johnny piped up. "Mama's p—"

"JOHNNYCAKE, IF YOU DON'T SHUT YOUR MOUTH RIGHT NOW MAMA'S GONNA BE WHACKING YOU WITH A WOODEN SPOON!" a voice positively screamed from the kitchen.

Dean smirked. "Well, _she_ hasn't changed much…"

"I HEARD THAT, DEAN, AND THIS SPOON ISN'T RESERVED _JUST_ FOR MY KIDS!" Sarah yelled. "NOW JUST SIT THERE _QUIETLY_ AND TRY NOT TO BE TOO MUCH OF A BAD INFLUENCE ON MY CHILDREN, AND I WILL BE THERE IN ONE MINUTE!"

Dean started to smirk, but Sam shook his head warningly. "I'd do what she says, Dean—she means it about the spoon…" he murmured, rubbing his arm as he spoke.

And then Sarah came waddling in, and Dean saw what everyone was talking about.

"…Wow. You're…huge…" Dean murmured, staring wide-eyed at her. Then, suddenly, he turned and smacked Sam on the arm. "_You_! You didn't _mention_ this!!! Not _once_! I mean, you've got to be at _least_ ei—"

"_Six _months," Sarah said firmly, glaring formidably at him.

"Right, that's exactly what I was going to say. And you didn't say a _word_ to me, you little jerk!"

Sam laughed. "Well, we wanted to surprise you."

"Again? You did that with _all_ of them, damnit!" Dean complained. "So…boy or girl, then?" he asked as Sarah went to sit down in the chair after pecking him on the cheek.

Sarah rolled her eyes in reply, and Dean chuckled.

"Okay, so what're you gonna call him?"

Sam smiled. "We were thinking Caleb Robert."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Dude. Are you gonna let your wife name _any_ of these kids?"

Sam blushed a little, and Sarah laughed. "That's okay. I'm terrible at coming up with names. Besides, you two have a _lot_ of people to remember."

She probably didn't intend for her comment to have the effect it did, but Sam and Dean fell abruptly silent all the same, and a sort of pall fell over the room as the Winchester brothers remembered all the people that they had loved and lost over the years—and whom Sam seemed intent on naming his children after, every single one.

Finally, though, the silence became too much for Dean, and he reached out to sling his free arm around Sam. "Well, Sammy, ya know what this means, right?"

"Um…that you _finally_ have to stop calling me that, now that I'm about to become a father to _four_?" Sam asked hopefully.

"Nope!" Dean replied brightly. "Drinking. Lots and _lots_ of drinking."

Sarah frowned formidably at him, probably because the kids _were_ still in the room. Sam, too, looked a little irritated.

"_Dean_! We _can't_!"

"Oh, come on, we'll take a cab if it'll make you feel better…geek…"

"No, that's _not_ it. Dean, we're not that young anymore! I mean, come on, man, you're _forty…_" he added, the frown changing into a smirk as he hit on Dean's most uncomfortable issue.

As expected, Dean glared at him the way he hadn't in _years_. "So? If I can still do…my job…then I can still drink you under the table."

But Sam was really _frowning_ now, and he suddenly looked…_worried_. Like, _really_ worried…

But then the frown changed to a bright—and totally false—smile, and Sam stood up. "Fine. Let's eat, and then I'll let you buy me _one_ drink."

But Dean didn't feel as good about his victory as he should have, somehow…

**My wish for you is that this life becomes all that you want it to.**

**Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,**

**And you never have to carry more than you can hold.**

**And while you're out there getting where you're getting to,**

**I hope you know somebody loves you and wants the same things, too.**

**Yeah, this is my wish.**

"Okay, kid, what's going on?"

Sam glanced at him from the passenger seat of the Impala—which Dean never had given up—and sighed heavily. "How did you know?"

He didn't even try to deny it, and that it itself was worrisome.

Dean just looked at him, and Sam leaned his head against the window, staring at the darkness instead of looking at his brother.

"Dean, I wasn't going to tell you this—and I haven't told Sarah, either—but…I've been having…bad feelings again, lately."

Dean had to fight the urge to freeze up and he had to fight just as hard to keep steering the car as if Sam hadn't just said something that could potentially end this really good thing they had going right now. But the fact was, even if he managed to hide it, Sam's words _freaked him out_.

"Oh, yeah?" he said casually. "Anything specific?"

Sam didn't seem too surprised at his attitude. He just shrugged. "No, and that's the problem. No bad dreams, no premonitions…just a feeling. I've been having it for a couple of weeks now…and when I saw you, it just sort of…jumped out at me."

"Does…that mean it's about me?" Dean asked, calmly.

Sam shook his head. "Not necessarily. I mean, you have something to _do_ with it, but it doesn't mean you're going to…get hurt or anything."

Dean drove in silence for a long time, turning it over in his mind. Sam hadn't had a premonition or anything like a premonition in over ten years. They'd gone away with The Demon, and both of them had hoped it would be permanent.

"Dean, I'm scared, man."

Dean very nearly jumped as the déjà vu hit him—he could remember the last time Sam said that…he could remember it so well…

"Yeah, I know you are, but…look, it probably doesn't even mean anything. You said it was vague, right?"

"Yeah…"

Dean nodded, projecting a lot more confidence than he felt into his next words. "Well, then, I say we just ignore it, Sammy. Unless something stronger comes up on your radar, we don't dwell on it. It's probably noth—"

He never saw the semi come sailing around the corner toward them.

**My wish for you is that this life becomes all that you want it to.**

**Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,**

**And you never have to carry more than you can hold.**

**And while you're out there getting where you're getting to,**

**I hope you know somebody loves you and wants the same things, too.**

**Yeah, this is my wish.**

Sarah's family paid for the funeral.

It was a pretty fancy to-do, all things considered. A nice coffin, a prominent pastor, thousands of flowers…

It was all supposed to be a comfort. The beauty, the service—it was supposed to _comfort_ the mourners.

Instead, it just _hurt_, like nothing had ever hurt before. Like nothing would ever hurt again.

Most everyone went to the wake after the funeral—probably searching for more of that false comfort—but one person remained, for a long time, until night fell and the cemetery became dark.

But not silent.

In almost the exact middle of one of the clusters of tombstones, a tall man stood, waving his arms at nothing and raging at the empty sky.

"How could you _do_ that? How could you take him from me?! You shouldn't have saved me! You should have saved _him_. I'm _nothing_, can't you idiots up there see that? You should have saved _him_, because…because he was _everything_, damnit!"

With those last, broken words, the man threw something down on the ground in front of one of the paved slabs—something he'd had clutched in his hand the whole time—and walked away.

Behind him, a silver pendent lay on the ground, a beautiful reminder of all things terrible, and all things lost.

**This is my wish.**

**I hope you know somebody loves you…**

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_Author's Note: …So. Wow. I completely shocked _myself_ with that ending—right before I began pulverizing myself. _I cannot believe I did that!!!_ I suck._

_As you can tell, I debated actually posting this one. But then I decided that since I wrote it, I might as well put it up for others to see and comment on. Hey, maybe you guys won't want to kill me as much as _I_ want to kill me right now, eh?_

_Oh, and also—I'm sorry if I messed up any of the lyrics to the song. I was having issues with Googling them._

_Review, please! It might make me feel better about writing this!_


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